


Blackmail

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Painful Sex, Rape, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for a prompt on the Good Omens kink meme. "Gabriel figures out the body swap, and blackmails Crowley by threatening to let Heaven know so they can truly execute Aziraphale. Terrified for the angel, Crowley agrees: what Gabriel wants, he gets. And Gabriel wants the demon under his power in each and every way: intense noncon, verbal and physical abuse. Make it hurt."





	Blackmail

Gabriel never did it in the flat. Not the flat, not the Bentley, and thankfully, mercifully, not the bookshop. Or, at least, he was avoiding places Crowley considered home so far.   
  
Everywhere else was fair game, though. The Ritz. Aziraphale's favorite sushi restaurant. Crowley's favorite bar. And, now, the park.   
  
Gabriel used his grip on Crowley's throat to bash his head against the arm of the bench with a loud clang. His sunglasses clattered to the ground. It wasn't quite sunset yet, and there were plenty of people still around. Not a single one of them would see, hear, or smell anything amiss, though. Like the tatters Gabriel had made of his jeans just a moment ago, doing this in public was a display of power more than anything that was practical. The hell of it was that it worked. Crowley was terrified.   
  
"What- what do you want from me?" Crowley asked, as Gabriel pawed between his legs. It wasn't a question of actions- this was going to involve Gabriel's dick in him no matter what- so much as it was a matter of genitalia. He didn't put effort into it just to walk around, not anymore, not since this started.   
  
So, three weeks then. This was time number eight.   
  
"Dick," Gabriel decided.   
  
Crowley concentrated as best he could over the pounding in his head, over the fear in the stupid meat of his brain that insisted that he needed to breathe and couldn't with Gabriel's hand on his throat, over the terror that threatened to paralyze him. A penis sprang into being between his legs. Gabriel inspected it with the hand not currently being used to pin him to the bench, rubbing and squeezing and Crowley was glad he'd begged off lunch earlier. He'd definitely be puking now, if there had been anything in his guts to puke.   
  
"It'll do," Gabriel declared. He let go of Crowley's penis, and his throat, so he could better push his knees up by his ears. He spread his cheeks, and spat. Crowley flinched. A pair of young women speed-walked right by them, and the cool air of the late autumn afternoon stung like a brand.  
  
"Hold your legs for me, Crawley," Gabriel said. He never, not even once during any of these encounters, lost his smug "I am the manager" tone of voice. Crowley hugged his legs to his chest.   
  
That was preparation, or foreplay, or however Gabriel wanted to call it now. He pushed in, unyielding, tearing him open. One of his hands found its way back to Crowley's throat, and he shook with pain, fear, and humiliation.   
  
"You're always so tight," Gabriel complained. "Are you never letting him fuck you, or-"  
  
"Stop," Crowley croaked. "Stop, please, you promised not to bring him into this, you promised-" He cut himself off with a little yelp as Gabriel began to fuck him.   
  
It was brutal. He swore, every time this happened, Gabriel made his cock just a little bit bigger, and it scraped against him with every drag back and then split him further open with every thrust forward, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.   
  
"The deal's whatever I say it is, demon," Gabriel remarked absently, his hand tightening around Crowley's throat. "Maybe the deal is that you tell me everything you know about Aziraphale, and I don't hand him over to Beelzebub when I'm done with you."  
  
"Please," Crowley wheezed. He couldn't breathe and he was going to cry and it hurt so much. "Please, please."  
  
"You always ask for more, you know? I'm doing you a favor here, I really am. Would it kill you to say thank you?"  
  
"Thank you," Crowley said instantly.   
  
Gabriel laughed, and came. Crowley wished that meant that he was finished here for now.   
  
"No, no. That's not enough," he said. His hand left Crowley's throat, only to wrap around his penis where it hung limply between his legs instead. "Show me."  
  
"I can't," Crowley said. "I can't, it hurts too much, I-"  
  
"You're a demon, you're supposed to like pain," Gabriel insisted, giving his penis another squeeze. "Go on, don't hold back. Show me how much you appreciate this."  
  
Crowley couldn't. He couldn't. He could hear ducks splashing in the pond, and kids- fuck it, there were kids playing nearby, and everything hurt, and he couldn't-  
  
"I wonder if you've corrupted Aziraphale enough for him to enjoy a little pain, eh?" _We both know you haven't corrupted him enough for him to be immune to Hellfire,_ he didn't say, but then again, he'd only had to say it once to get Crowley to agree to this.  
  
Crowley sobbed.   
  
"Well?"  
  
"I'm trying, I'm trying, please, just- I'm trying," Crowley said. And he was. He had to.   
  
There were no pretty fantasies he could use to make this bearable. They would have all involved Aziraphale, and he couldn't have the angel brought into this, not even as a dream. But he could try to numb the agony of Gabriel's miraculously still hard cock in him, try to recreate the cocktail of endorphins that sang through his body when he'd masturbated before.   
  
It worked. Gabriel laughed at him again, began fucking him again. The pain of it nearly forced him limp again. He fought to keep it separate, the pain and the need to maintain an erection. Through sheer force of will he managed it, though it wasn't pleasant. Everything went all funny, and he ended up experiencing it as though he was watching himself get raped two different ways at once: the humiliation of being aroused as Gabriel did what he pleased side-by-side with the agony of being fucked by Gabriel with such deliberate disregard for his person that it was a kind of sadism all its own.   
  
The sunset was even slightly different in each scenario. That was probably a bad sign.   
  
Gabriel came once more- or was it twice? The Gabriel focused on hurting him slapped him in the face, and he watched his head hit the bench armrest of the bench again. He was saying something, but Crowley couldn't hear a thing. The Gabriel intent on humiliating him began to jerk him off, which was clear enough. Crowley tried to focus, tried to make himself come.   
  
It took a bit of time. It was nearly dark when he managed it.  
  
Gabriel kept fucking him until he'd come for the third- fourth?- time, Crowley's spent and oversensitive penis clutched tight in his hand. It hurt, and the come on his stomach and staining his shirt was so cold, and Gabriel wiped his hand off on Crowley's hair and kissed him.  
  
It was the kiss that jerked him back into his corporation. It was something new, and unexpected, and _terrifying_.   
  
It must have shown on his face, because Gabriel paused in the middle of smoothing out his suit to chuckle.   
  
"Until next time, Crawley," he said.   
  
"Until next time," Crowley echoed dully.   
  
He threw up another don't-mind-me ward the second Gabriel disappeared. It was slow going, after that. He hadn't performed a single miracle before the warding all day, but he was so worn out that the world spun a bit. He had to take his time. Miracle away the mess. Wait. Miracle away the injuries. That took three tries before it was done. More waiting, and then he could miracle his jeans intact.   
  
The ward was still going when he picked his sunglasses back off the ground. He felt like he might start crying again. He felt like he might never be able to cry again.   
  
He sat on the bench in the park where he and Aziraphale had been meeting for centuries and was undoubtedly closed for the night, and then, because   
he'd lived on Earth for a long time, he checked his phone.  
  
He'd put it on silent when he'd seen Gabriel approaching him. He hadn't expected much- with Hell no longer interested in him, there weren't very many people who called him. Aziraphale might have wanted dinner. He would probably have been able to think of some kind of excuse if he hadn't been confronted with seventy three missed calls, a full voicemail inbox, and one text message instead.  
  
The number from the text message was Madame Tracy's (saved to his phone but never before used) but it had obviously come from Aziraphale.   
  
_I saw Gabriel today STOP Please call me STOP_  
  
"Shit," Crowley swore. "Shit shit fucking bless it-"  
  
He ran through every curse he knew, one hand gripping tight in his hair. When he ran out, he still had no idea what he was going to do.


End file.
